


Until Death Separates You

by slightlyjillian



Series: By Your Side [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Second Chances, complicated friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>set after the GW series and pre-EW. Zechs has found his final mission. A mission for two. May be read separately, but works as a prequel to Alithea's <i>In My Way There's You</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Death Separates You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In My Way There's You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/58549) by [Alithea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alithea/pseuds/Alithea). 



> _"You're going to get us killed," Nichol replied, as if confirming a suspicion.  
> "Not until I make it worth the price."_

"So do you know what charges are being brought against you today?"

The machine doesn't even try to sound human. The tin texture resounds over the mashing of syllables. Someone typed in the text and the equipment did the rest. All to protect the identity of my accuser.

My accuser. I'm sure I can name him in one guess. It's not as if we haven't been isolated, alone together, for the past eight months. But I knew who I was picking when I set his dossier on the desk and said, "I want this one."

Well, I knew as much as a person can be summarized by text on paper.

Something didn't feel right, though. I tested the bonds that kept my wrists strapped to the arms of the chair. The single light pointed into my face kept me from seeing the width or depth of my surroundings, but I could feel the chill of the circulated air and hear the low hum of machinery always present on colony.

"I don't recognize this _courtroom_ as legitimate," I said. My eyes caught a movement in the corner and reflexively squinted to see more.

Clicks and whirling of keys sounded next, then the tin machine responded, "Invalid response. Insert default reply: prisoner complies. Now an account of events starting three days prior. Witness One."

***

People don't see what they don't expect. I suppose that's how I managed to go undetected for months after the end of the Gundam War. To be fair, I had to avoid Noin. She never stopped looking for me and likely never would. She needed me to say 'no' for her, so I did.

No one needed me to lead them. No one looked to me for their salvation and the purpose behind their house-of-cards missions.

The emotion of freedom only excited me for a week. Possibly no more than five days. I may have been the reluctant bastard child of every war faction over the past few years, but part of me enjoyed the roles I had been asked to play. I missed the movement. The nights with a knife under my pillow. I could feel my muscles growing relaxed, pedestrian--even as I kept up a rigorous routine of physical activity.

I was left wondering what benefit came from being Miles Peterson. Creating him had been easy, far too easy. Along with the demilitarization of the Earth Sphere Unified Nation, the world had sacrificed a close watch on their electronic security. I waltzed into classified documents as if entering a mansion with the front door open and an unquestioning butler who offered me an iced tea.

The search through the data base reminded me of the loose strings in space. The destruction of colonies created an ideal location for others like Miles Peterson to hide away and bide their time. While humanity rebuilt itself on dirt and in the sky, those who had a mind to could recreate themselves as well.

Someone had to take out the trash. The cold truth of the matter was that the garbage I had in mind was a two-man job.

***

"You can wait in this room, Mr. Peterson." The young guard unlocked a solid door and pointed to the interrogation room inside. Two metal chairs on one side and a place to lock in an inmate on the other.

I sniffed deeply. The room smelled like it needed a good wash. What were the guards on staff doing with their free time? Playing cards?

"Just the same, I'll go with you." I tapped the unrestricted visitors pass pinned to my vest.

We continued past the other closed doors. Into a secured area (more keys) and then the floor suddenly was covered in slippery wet. I raised my brow pointedly at the guard. She had the decency to blush, but didn't reveal the secrets of the mess. The ill-used bleach had pushed the residue of blood to the corners of the wall. For a time of peace, no one was looking too closely at the treatment of war criminals. Well, those who were unlucky enough to get caught.

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised at the condition of the man in cell number seventeen. He sat on the floor in the corner nearest the open toilet. One shoulder pressed against the metal as if being supported by a friend. His arms were bound and balanced over his up-bent knees. Dark hair was uncut and matted.

"Visitor," the woman announced. The old fashioned key slipped in the lock and rattled like a bone out-of-place. The hinges creaked and we both stepped inside. I could see by my shoes the blood had washed under the frames.

More striking in the shadows of the windowless space, dark-ringed eyes flashed up from a pale face. His cheeks were hollow and covered in patches of badly trimmed stubble. An ill-used voice rasped, "Get lost."

"Not an option, pal." The female guard reached under the man's shoulders and heaved. I blinked back surprise at the undisciplined contact, but from the passive compliance of the prisoner's body the woman knew who she was dealing with.

"I thought I told you I don't like these _visits_." The man seemed unable to muster the defiance I had seen originally. His eyes scanned the floor, unseeing.

"It's not like that." The woman glanced at me as if I might not be privileged to this information. "He's someone different."

"Oh a new... _fuck_." The man gasped as he stumbled, leaning heavily onto the slight woman. Then he lowered his voice, "Where am I going?" I caught the edge of his weariness and apprehension in the whisper.

"You're back on duty, soldier." I clarified, not hiding that I'd heard their conversation. "Released into my custody with possibility of permanent parole." Mostly the truth. I needed someone with a certain set of skills. Someone as blacklisted as myself, but easily lost in the system. No one would miss Lieutenant Nichol, formerly of OZ.

Nichol peered in my direction. I saw the moment when he recognized me. "Oh... _fuck_."

***

Paperwork signed. In the foyer of the prison, I worked the keys to unshackle the former soldier. Tossing the handcuffs on the front desk along with the key, I waited to see if he would rub his wrists. He didn't.

"I'm pretty sure the handcuffs come with the boy," he joked, cautiously.

"I don't think I'll need them."

He still needed to change. Get cleaned up, blend in. Even in the baggy orange jumpsuit, I could see that his health had deteriorated. His posture slumped. No bones were broken and while he seemed cowed, I remembered the first flash of anger in those eyes when the door to his cell had opened. The soldier I needed was still in there. If I couldn't fish him out in time, well... the prison wasn't going anywhere.

I ushered him into the guest restrooms after retrieving a duffel of supplies I'd checked upon arrival. "Put this on." The clothes were going to be wrong, but I'd only had his last military evaluation as a resource. He shuffled like a hunchback. His fingers trembled as if remembering how to work buttons.

How long had he been inside? Not long. But the behaviors I saw concerned me. I'd expected someone different. The man who had betrayed Une and nearly destroyed an entire colony. This shell needed time, and I only had so much to spare before I lost my window into space.

Nichol tugged at the front of his new shirt, then looked at the backs of his hands which were still visibly shaking. He breathed a laugh. "Whatever you want, man. I never thought I'd say this... but _whatever_..."

"Shut up." I said frankly handing him a baseball cap. "I'm taking you to get cleaned up and then test your reflexes before we move out."

"Who sent you? Did she send you?"

He asked too many questions, so I merely pointed at the door. "We're leaving."

The filthy clothes stayed on the tile floor.

***

"So you don't work for the Preventors?" Nichol asked, avoiding his reflection in the wall of mirrors. I lived above an old dance studio. I put down a few mats and ordered him through a familiar pattern of exercises. The boy had been trained through Lake Victoria a few years behind my class but before the war started he had enough merit to climb the ranks into space service.

His muscles tensed as I checked his posture. From behind him, I reached out with both hands to correct the set of his neck. Then stretched along his arm to fix the angle. He submitted, but stiffened at the touch.

"No. I have no affiliation to that organization." I answered him, watching us both in the mirror. He didn't trust me and he shouldn't. He was smart enough to know who I was and what that meant. The IQ tests, chiefly deductive reasoning and mechanical skills, had put him at the top of his class, even if demerits and a willful attitude had kept him no better ranked than number ten. That defiance was keenly subdued. Perhaps he had grown up a little during his time in prison. Although, my deductive skills weren't so dense as to miss the signs of abuse.

"I refused too," Nichol chuckled with the appearance of calm. "Told them where they could put their organization. Not that it kept them from sending recruiters."

"What are you saying?" I let him go and crossed my arms. He returned to _at ease_.

Huffing once and long, he did look at me then. "Revenge makes some people act like shit."

So the visits weren't from recruiters. I knew that no offer had been made for his enrollment to the program. His tenure with OZ ended when he organized the few survivors to bring Une back to earth when Barge sank. Those few who lived owed their lives as much to Nichol as to the compassionate nameless soldier who let Nichol loose from his holding cell on Barge. Although, it seemed that the compassion from his peers began and ended in that moment. No one testified on his behalf, so Nichol was tried by a hard judge and put away for time that another court might have dismissed. Bad luck.

"Do you need treatment?" I asked. Some information never made its way into the official files.

"No, man." Nichol's face turned red. "I never let them do _that_." He twitched as if a cannon went off. "They just... well. It wasn't that. Believe me, it wasn't..." He tried again. "Besides, they definitely don't want doctors in that place. Might get the attention of the wrong sort of people. You know." He shifted his weight. His posture gradually unfolding like a flower relaxing in the light of the sun. "The decent sort of people."

So I'd saved him. Loyalty had never been granted to me so fast. And I was pleased with my choice. No good soldier didn't carry somewhat of his own psychological damage. Whatever the truth of the matter, in the end it all was the same sort of damage.

***

"Miles! You brought a friend?" The woman spoke very little English, which was the only language we had in common. But she was discrete, and while the sun was shining that day, she rearranged her schedule to close her small shop and tend to my recruit's ill-kept hair.

She was a voluptuous woman not in the least because she enjoyed cooking as much as styling. Her table always had a tray of some exotic snack. I trusted her and her food. With my finances purchasing her establishment for the rest of the day, I had effectively earned full access to her culinary talents. Sitting on the couch, I leaned my head back savoring the flavors of whatever she'd made that day.

Glancing at where she'd pinned Nichol down with a floral print wrap, I watched as she peered into Nichol's scalp. His face had taken a familiar plum-red hue. He was proving to be a very private individual. Keeping secrets for himself as well as others.

Ingrid, tangled to her knuckles in Nichol's hair, looked at me with her mouth flopping open a few times. Eventually, as I sat forward with some concern, she cursed in her native language.

Surprised I did stand up then, and at the same time, Nichol rapidly replied in the same language. Russian heritage. The file hadn't mentioned he was bilingual.

The older woman crossed her arms then, scowling into Nichol's face. But she glanced to one side and muttered a sound of reluctant agreement.

"What?" I asked.

"You don't know?" she seemed surprised.

Nichol interjected a rapid-shot of Russian, then for my benefit said, "She found out my little secret. But it's not that big of a deal, really." He lifted his hands from under the floral print as if surrendering.

"What is it?" Impatiently, I crossed the room peering at Nichol's head where Ingrid pointed.

His fingers traced a path along his temple into the thick of his dark hair creating a natural part. "If I show you..." His tongue slipped between his lips as he concentrated on the exploration of his fingertips. I was distracted until I noticed the part wasn't natural. Nichol had a four inch scar along his scalp hidden under the mop of dark curls.

"Who did that?" I asked, wanting an answer this time.

Nichol caught my intensity and smiled sadly. "Step-father and a good swing with a piece of metal a few months after my mother died. It wasn't much later I entered the military. I don't mind discipline if it's structured." He joked feebly. I didn't laugh. Obviously the records on our soldiers left a great deal omitted, but Nichol's private nature probably neglected the detail upon his recruitment.

Ingrid scowled at me as if the injury was somehow my fault.

"It doesn't seem to bother you now," I observed blandly.

"No, I'm good." Then he said something more to Ingrid who seemed charmed by his throaty consonants. I watched his lips wondering what he had said.

"I'll do hair so no one will notice," she resolved with a definitive nod of her head.

***

Loading the half-sized shuttle was simple work with two sets of hands bringing in the gear. Nichol fixed the seals on the cargo door while I answered the blinking light at the helm.

Static on the line interfered with the command tower's instructions. They couldn't get a clear signal to me. In turn, they couldn't see my picture on the vid screen either. All was going according to plan.

"Have a safe journey, Mr. Peterson," the tower wished us well.

Nichol joined me in the front taking the co-pilot seat. I still stood in between.

"What?" Nichol asked, some indignation slipping into his confusion. As he became comfortable with my presence, I noticed more of the stubborn personality resurfacing.

"Flying is your job," I explained. Waiting for him to unbuckle and move into the other seat I watched the space near his forehead where the scar was hidden by the now shining, dark curls. He bumped my chest with his shoulder as he moved over. I ignored the aggressive movement. He was not unlike an injured animal always testing my intentions with muted hostility.

"Okay." Nichol relaxed in the other seat. He glanced at me, as if waiting a reprimand. I simply nodded and spun into the seat he'd left, the fabric still warm from his presence there. He flipped through the switches, checking levels and easing the shuttle toward the lift route to space. "We are good to go." He waited for me to say something. I didn't.

"And... here we go," he continued at last.

***

I fell asleep and into a dark place.

Voices filtered in and out of my solitude. I heard pieces of conversation.

Some remembered, "You're my best hope, Milliardo. Everything I've planned comes down to this moment. Will you join me?"

Some imagined, "This place will always be ours. These rooms. This legacy. Someday we'll add to this wall the faces of our children. Our legacy in portrait with those of your father's family."

Noin. I shifted at the sound of her voice. Her face was beyond my sight, but I could smell her. Then there was the taste of her lips. How she felt against me.

"A good swing with a piece of metal..."

I was standing in the hall of the Peacecraft castle. Looking up at the paints that corresponded to the stern face of my father. He had been an old man when I was born. No time to play with the energy of my youth, he sent me to the stables to exhaust myself on the back of a horse. The stable boys, only a few years older than me were frantic that the Peacecraft heir's well being was in their hands. They began to quarrel over who would look after me.

"I've got him."

I was in the stables. Nichol had spoken. He was younger, dressed like the others who worked with the horses. I had a piece of twisted metal in my hands.

"Not you too?" Nichol said, thick with remorse.

I flexed my fingers around the unyielding edge.

***

"So when do we make contact with the colony?" Nichol asked. I hadn't briefed him on the mission. He seemed more aggravated when I shared the most immediate pieces of the mission as if that reminded him of all he couldn't know. To this point, he hadn't directly questioned me.

I watched him for a moment. He looked away. His color was better than the pale face that had greeted me in the prison. I answered him with another question. "You have no one left? No family?"

Nichol frowned, but he still complied. "I'm sure that bastard's still alive somewhere. But I'll be damned if I have anything more to do with him. It's been years and there's no making someone like _him_ sorry. My mother's gone and her first husband, my actual father... well, he died in a mining accident." Then as if he could return the irritation, Nichol asked brightly, "What about you, sir?"

I stretched my neck, reflecting on the accidental way he'd addressed me as _sir_. The young man still wanted to be given orders. His only acts of rebellion had put him into situations conditionally worse than the ones from which he'd broken free.

Thinking of Relena, I wondered if Peacecraft's children didn't do much the same. Only we had neither been a foot soldier, but the figurehead in front of the masses.

Rubbing my palms along the length of my pants, I leaned forward. "We're not contacting anyone on colony. Not one person there is going to want to see us."

"You're going to get us killed," Nichol replied, as if confirming a suspicion.

"Not until I make it worth the price."

***

"We'll be on their sensors in thirty minutes." Nichol's countdown had started six hours prior. That was his way of seeing when I'd give up the next step of our mission. He didn't like not having a plan. I could see his mind working through contingency plans through the deepening furrow in his brow. He radiated insecurity and reckless agitation.

"Thank you, Nichol," I repeated. Then turned another page of the book I was reading. Noin had endured long missions by reading. Her indefatigable patience irritated me at the time. I'd wanted her attention. I'd wanted her to invade my space with her limbs and that mouth that wouldn't shut up with the days and minutes between our encounters. Except when we were together, on a job, she put her nose into a book and went to places that I could not follow.

Nichol kicked the floor panel. Looking over at him, I could see the movement had been accidental. However he scowled back when his misjudgment alone captured my attention. "Twenty-seven minutes," he said, a little too loudly. Then, "I suppose that's alright with you? That we get shot out of space before we start this mission of yours?"

He wanted to be in control of his life again. Now I really saw the man from the reports in his file. Une's precise signature on the bottom of her evaluations. _Impossible to manage, but the best in his field._

I relented. He'd resigned himself to my silence for hours. And I did only have twenty minutes to prep my weapon.

"I need you to pilot the suit in the hold."

His eyes widened. "You want me to _pilot_...? I haven't clocked hours in a machine for..." He choked in uncertainty. His confusion clouded his eyes as he tried the math. Calculating how long he'd spent with me in the city, the months in the prison, his time on Barge before the war ended. Each had to feel like a lifetime in and of itself.

"It's a mobile doll," I clarified.

"It's been nearly two years since I've been in..."

"Doll," I repeated.

"Oh," he said finally. Then, "Where did you find one of those?"

***

The suit was our distraction. The colony defenses could only point one direction at a time and the absolute emphasis on demilitarization meant no supplies from Earth to augment their existing machinery.

A great deal of the politicians behind the Gundam War had wasted their time fighting the dilemma of using unmanned mobile dolls. However one fell along the blurred lines of morality, I couldn't deny the nearly ridiculous level of skill that it brought out of my companion. The equipment that I had acquired and kept safe was an older model. Not only did Nichol master the machine in a matter of minutes, but with a few tweaks he had augmented its maneuverability and speed. I had hoped to buy a distraction, but with his abilities I optimistically imagined we could arrive on the colony completely undetected.

I asked, "Are you set?"

Nichol looked up and I missed whatever he said due to the easy smile of his happy expression. I suppose that for someone who managed to destroy every human relationship he encountered, the interactions with a mobile doll had to be therapeutically relaxing.

"Are _you_ ready?" He interrupted my distraction.

"Of course," I bristled.

***

"That was..." Nichol fell to the ground and spun so that his back was to the wall. I dropped down next to him. The lights flickered, consequence of the destruction on the far side of the colony. The mobile doll had taken out a power satellite before I'd ordered Nichol to let the machine be caught in the colony's weapons fire.

"That was..." he said again, his chest heaving. We'd run from the shuttle bay to an inner room where I'd calculated a place to plug in and directly access the colony data base. The equipment was in the bags we both carried, but I didn't move yet.

The override codes had opened the shuttle doors. I needed to erase that log. After they reached the remains of the mobile doll they should search for other suspicious activity. I needed to make sure they only saw what I wanted them to find.

I unzipped the bag, pulling out neatly wound cords and then started plugging them into my gear. Nichol watched and then made a few observations that reassured me that he knew the technology I was using well enough to assist my work rather than hinder it. He unscrewed the wall panel and we tore out the wires we needed to hack the system.

Nichol rubbed his neck watching as I keyed in commands and the colony access image appeared on the screen. "You're scarily good at this," he observed.

"You doubted my reputation?" I responded, somewhat taken back by his comment. I was used to people being impressed with my work. His response was not what I expected.

"No, sir." Nichol's humor retreated behind an obedient exterior. The smile was gone as well. It had flickered out like a wilted candle flame as his breathing calmed. "It's just not the reputation I expected. Not what I heard. Some of it." He stammered then, and I stopped what I was doing to look at him directly.

"Go on," I prompted.

"Oh the typical," he said, with emphasis on the lightness in his tone which made the words come out as if he were being strangled. "That you were the muscle of OZ. The Lightning Count being Lord Treize's righteous... well, _fist_."

"A brute?" I made a sound in my throat and went back to the miniature keyboard. The shuttle log was erased. The surveillance cameras were looped. I had impressed the system with a new access code that enabled me to control locked doors and security fields.

"I just didn't realize you were so," Nichol paused to search out a word. "_Tricky_, sir."

I didn't say anything, but could see Nichol shifting as if I might retaliate against the definition he'd assigned to me.

"When you were reading, I pulled up the papers, sir." Nichol said quietly. "Read up on this Earth Sphere Unified Nation I supposedly was living in and the articles about the Preventers. But they never mentioned my trial. Although, who would want to know about me? So I looked up _you_."

I sighed knowing what was coming.

"They think you're dead."

"Let them," I warned him. "I'm not convinced I like the way the world is going. But when the time comes, I'll make that choice. Until then... I do what I have to do to keep..." I stopped short. Why was I saying this? Perhaps I believed I was doing what was best for the world, but who was I that the world cared what I _thought_? I'd stopped being that person.

When had I started caring again?

"Like I said," Nichol relaxed. "Tricky."

***

Miles Peterson had been born on the moon. At the age of twelve, he'd arrived on Colony until his father and siblings had been killed in the Gundam War. They'd fought with OZ after Lady Une's mission to recruit volunteers from space. The youngest, Miles had stayed home with his mother, who died of a rare, incurable condition. He still resided in the apartment of his parents.

Nichol had stopped being impressed, so I only shared enough that if he was stopped in the grocery store he could cover his ass.

"Boyfriend from the L-2 colonies?" Nichol sputtered.

"We met on the webchat," I said simply. "It's easy to remember and I don't have to fabricate a life for you on this colony. No one is going to mistake us for relatives... and we can't let the locals become too interested in us."

Nichol stared a heartbeat longer. He needed that moment to reconcile his anger with his common sense, so I let him have it. I wondered how Lady Une had managed this young man at all. Perhaps he had been different before his time in prison. Perhaps he had smiled more then.

"Yeah, with that pretty face, I'm sure you have to make provisions for unwanted love interests. But I am not making..." His voice became small. "_Noises_ for your cover story."

I shrugged. He'd been gone for most of the afternoon hiding as a tourist and doing surveillance for the safest places to interact with the public while I worked my way into the secrets of the local government. I'd seen enough already to know the effort was worth every moment of Nichol's embarrassment. Or my own, if I was bothered by such things.

He paced to the point I couldn't concentrate on reading the electronic files.

"Stop," I ordered. He squinted at me while making a face. Of all things, he wanted me to know his feelings were hurt. "Buckle down, or do whatever you have to in order to make this mission succeed. The moment you cannot deal, soldier, I will kill you."

I went back to my work. Nichol sat on the bed. Eventually, he fell asleep.

***

I might have better defined the limits of our relationship or the situations in which I would murder my companion. Nichol, as it turned out, had a wicked sense of humor. The longer I made him wait in uncertainty, the stronger his retaliations. And they were always in public, at my expense and where I could not respond.

"Maria!" Nichol ran ahead of me. He stopped only when he reached the woman who was gardening in her yard.

He insisted that we go "on walks" as if he were a pet that needed exercise. But the logic behind his idea was sound. The neighbors acted as if I'd been a reclusive son who only just started to live his life after losing his entire family in the war. I tactfully did not correct people when they started their "remember when" stories about my youth.

"I think he should too," Nichol was saying as I made my way closer at a leisurely pace.

"What's that?" I said with what should pass as friendly interest.

Maria covered her laughter. The dirt drifted to the ground from her well-used trowel. I considered the delicate balance of the colony's gravity units. Just a few keystrokes and nothing would fall back into its place. I wondered how Nichol would feel when the moment to attack arrived. I had lost track of his pretending, the young man seemed to sincerely enjoy the community. But, then again, that's what we wanted them to see.

"Nothing," Nichol smiled, not hiding his own laughter. But I knew that was fake. I'd seen his smile once before. The unguarded one when he played with his machines.

"I swear." I put my arm around his shoulders, flexing so that his neck was hooked into my grip while I pulled him away.

"You love him," Marie called after me. "Don't forget that!"

Rubbing his neck when I let him go, Nichol said gloomily, "Yeah, boss. Don't forget."

***

"What are you doing?" Nichol asked. The frequency of his questions had diminished after the first month. I think my perseverance startled him. Six hours on the shuttle had pushed his patience, only to be living on a colony as if we were making a home. If he fell for the cover, if Nichol became attached to this place--it didn't hurt the mission. When I needed my soldier, I'd simply pry on his compliance to obey orders.

"What are you doing?" His voice was nearer to me this time. He leaned against the tabletop. The definition of his arms illuminated by only the glow of the screen. I hadn't noticed the decrease in the colony's artificial daylight. I leaned back and looked around into the dark corners of our shared rooms.

"Tell me," he insisted.

"Calculating the distance of a explosive blast," I replied. The figures needed to reach as far as I needed them. The stations for oxygen, water and climate control were strategically placed no where near each other in order to prevent sabotage or accident damaging more than one at a time. Programmed explosive devices in each location set to detonate at a given time would cripple the colony. I only needed to make sure that the right information was leaked to the Preventer Offices so they could have rescue available and restraint units in order to apprehend the movement stirring the dark corners of the political offices in this place.

"Calculating," Nichol repeated then pushed his index finger into the center of my forehead. "Yeah, I see that." He crossed his arms again. "Tell me something I don't know. _What are you doing?_"

"When it's time." Standing, I brushed him aside and went to turn on the lights.

"Stop, wait!" he called after me nonsensically. He caught my arms before I could summon the room to a normal lighting. "Once you do that, do this... then I won't... _damn_."

"What is it?" I indulged him. His anger flared and sparked so easily now like waves accentuated by the wind. As if I was the wind that stirred him, in which case--I could calm him as well.

A soft answer made him pause and I knew that I could control him if I had to do so. Which made him the best candidate for this mission. Anyone else might have tried to stop me by now.

"What is it?" I repeated, fighting to keep my voice level.

Then he surprised me with his sudden indifference, "Just checking."

***

I kept the light on after that day. Hours into the evening, I adjusted the wires and smoothed together the connections of my explosives. Nichol offered to help when I started, but I only had to tell him once to leave me alone. If I needed him to run the machinery, I'd let him know.

He sat at the other end of the table, resting his head in his hand. Lately he'd started to volunteer at the local school. I had expressed some concern that the children might ask questions which might compromise our cover. Where an adult might be discrete, a child knew no such boundaries. "It's okay," he'd promised. "I teach math. It's not like we do more than play with numbers. No one's asking me deep secrets..."

He'd kept talking while I'd finished deciding which wall would best hold and conceal my bomb until detonation.

That night he was quiet. No conversation about the policies of the colony school and the way that Maria rearranged her flowers at his suggestion.

He went to bed first. "You're sure taking a long time with those."

***

Sometimes the cover was an inconvenience that Nichol liked to use to his advantage. Maria's husband bought a hot tub with permission to "invite the neighbors." Her friendship with Nichol was irritatingly the first option on her short-list.

Nichol groaned in appreciation of the swirling heat. I fought to look relaxed while Maria stared at my torso. Her husband had gone in search of something to drink after cursing at their empty fridge.

"So good," Nichol's cheeks split on a smile. "Nice."

"It's because that man took all his noise with him. Sorry about that," Maria said to me. This situation was uncomfortably ordinary. I wiped at the sweat along my upper lip and then pushed my hair back from my face. Nichol chuckled.

"So long," Maria said before she could stop herself. I had suspected, but she confirmed that most of the private jokes between the two of them had been about my appearance. Nichol's barked laugh nailed the truth in front of me.

"He wears it like his daddy," Nichol said carelessly. Then to make the mistake worse, he sat upright with a bolt as if his back had become a stiff board.

"It's true," I shrugged, trying to appear sheepish. Maria didn't suspect, so she would hardly know that Nichol's observation was a different sort of truth than what we'd told her.

"Yeah." Nichol slipped under the water as far as he could.

***

"I'm pretty good with numbers," Nichol offered. "I know you like working by yourself and all, but I think you've had only four hours of sleep a night since we got here. Perhaps we could make that longer..."

I cut him off with a glare.

"Okay, maybe you don't need a lot of sleep, but I'm feeling sort of useless here." The other man had made himself dinner and let his fork tap the plate. "Are you hungry?"

I shook my head and went back to calculating the spray of the blades I'd installed into the bomb.

***

Two days later I caught him trying to load my program. It was still early in the morning. He typically was up before me while he got ready to go to the school. This time he'd been so quiet I'd become concerned. His secrecy being his undoing.

"Hi," he said brightly as if he were simply checking the weather.

"What are you doing?" I said wearily.

"I've only looked at this for ten seconds and I don't think this is right." He pointed at the screen. "Unless this level of destruction is what you _mean to be doing_..."

I shut the case closed with enough force that he jerked back his hands so not to have his fingers smashed inside. "Ten seconds. No seconds." I said stupidly. My thoughts were still clouded by sleep and his dumb expression, mouth unable to form words, caused my entire body to flush with warm frustration. "I said... _no_."

"Damn it, Zechs," he said. "Tell me what your plan is. Or I swear..."

Everything turned red at the sound of that name. That name in his voice. Then my eyes caught the edge of the scar by his temple and my throat tightened.

"I'm leaving." Nichol stood and walked around me to finish getting ready for his day.

I didn't know how close I had been. Or what I had been about to do.

***

"I'm going to see Maria." Were the next and last words that Nichol said to me. He'd already spent the better part of the week with her. Working in the garden or relaxing in the hot tub. He regarded me with silent nods and polite distance. I didn't have time to worry about his hurt feelings. He would be there when I needed him.

That time was coming soon.

I checked the numbers again. His comment had frustrated me, but the figures were correct. I didn't know what he had seen. Perhaps he had misread the calculations, in which case I was worried for the education of the local children.

The room was dark again. Nichol was still gone.

My ears pricked to hear a sound outside the door. Nichol would fumble with the keys, usually trying one or two before finding the one he needed.

I didn't hear keys.

Perhaps my time on colony had dulled my senses, but I heard every footstep in the hall. Three persons. A male whisper. Standing, I killed the network connection. With my passwords, I could access the information at any time. All I needed was a blunt object. I gripped the back of the chair where I'd been sitting.

I stepped to the side and directly in sight of the window.

I suppose the rifleman had been wearing night vision glasses.

***

The tin of the computer voice still rang in my ears as I was led to a holding room. I'd underestimated the underground movement on this colony. One of them had hacked one of my programs in such a sloppy fashion they'd left me exposed to the wider network. A team of officers, a well-functioning unit to my surprise, had tracked the source location to our apartment.

I had thought only one person had known my mission, but while the tin machine recited the testimony of the electronic witness I realized that I was worried about only one person at that moment. And it wasn't me.

"Oh thank God."

I looked up as the door opened and a relieved Nichol stumbled into the room followed by a hastily bundled Maria.

"What are you doing here?" I would have stood up except the restraints used on me were still hooked to the metal table.

Nichol cast a wild-eyed glance at Maria then said, "Someone was remotely accessing our web keys and it seems to have been some sort of terrorist plot!" His floundering speech made a sort of sense.

Maria huddled in her coat, nervously looking at the handcuffs around my wrists. She pointed at the bindings then spoke to Nichol, "This is unacceptable. They can't just break into people's homes and do this to them."

"I know," Nichol said with exaggerated alarm. Then he turned back to me with more anxiety on his face than I'd ever seen. "Maria's husband knows the guy who runs this place. They're sorting it out so that you can come home with me." Then he added, "Sweetie."

Maria choked on a tearful breath. "We'll get you home, Miles."

"That's right," Nichol slipped his cover and I saw his honest smile at the sound of my false name.

***

I was led into the foyer of the detention hall and wondered if the universe was having a joke at my expense as Nichol asked if he could unlock my handcuffs.

"You'd better sell this, because I worked my ass off to play the part," Nichol whispered. But his hands shook as he undid the cuffs. I caught his wrists in my hands, holding him until he became more steady. Then I put a kiss on his lips. Rather chaste considering the fabricated relationship, but I noticed his pulse fluttered under my fingers.

"If you guys are finished." Maria's husband stared at some place on the ceiling as the guards collected their restraints with unrestrained chuckles.

"Dan's going to drive us back." Nichol leaned into me as if he needed to be close or I might wander away.

"Thank you," I said.

"Doesn't talk a lot, but he says what's important." Nichol looped his arm with mine. On the way outside, his smile could have fooled me.

***

Neither of us had seen much need to play into our cover, but Nichol insisted on sitting in the backseat with me on the ride home. Maria and her husband talked quietly. I considered my complete lack of personal space and Nichol sat with his back against my shoulder as if I were holding him up. He had his arms crossed and a far away look over his set jaw.

I didn't know what to say so I quietly tried not to hear the conversation ahead of us.

"The circus?" Nichol muttered.

"What?" I didn't understand his comment until he pointed out the far window. In the distance, I saw a colorful big tent with smaller vehicles driving around it. Trucks mostly carrying what must have been animals and pieces of the set.

Nichol considered the site as long as he could see it. His head shifting to keep it in sight until the curve of the colony took it out of view.

***

I didn't wake up that morning to the sounds of Nichol getting ready for school. The quiet concerned me until by shifting, I remembered the events of the days prior. An exhaustion I didn't know I felt had been in my body like a poison. At that moment, I didn't know if I could move a finger for the weariness in my spirit.

"Hey..." Nichol had sat on the edge of my bed. He shifted his weight so I rolled to get a better look at his profile. "How are you doing?"

"Figuring out plan B," I replied. Plan B had never existed, but I needed it now. I searched for a place to begin when Nichol interrupted again.

"If you need," His mouth moved as if tasting something foul, "Plan B, let me help you with it. I actually scored pretty well on tactical..."

"I know."

"Oh." His face turned red. "Well, I'm not bad at it so maybe I can help you figure what to do next."

"I'll think about it." Right then, I was having a hard time thinking about anything. My eyelids didn't want to stay open and my only rational thought that overruled all others was to not make any rash decisions.

"Sure, think about it." He sounded uncertain. He didn't believe I'd give it thought.

"Thank you." I said. The darkness of my dreams wrapped around the light of the room and embraced my thoughts.

***

"How long?" I was conscious for a moment.

Nichol was nearby somewhere and he answered, "What? Not sure, hey..."

I smiled. Someone who couldn't keep track of days. That was different.

***

"Twenty-four hours." Nichol's voice was close.

I grumbled, but my body sat up easily and I rubbed my eyes awake. The bed was disgusting with my sweat and the sheets tangled around my legs. "Thanks," I said, trying out my voice.

"You must have needed it." Nichol was at my side. I would have stood but he put a hand on my shoulder keeping me on the bed. "Wait. I need to tell you something."

"Tell me," I retorted. Emotions flooded my alert senses. I'd been caught, taken down by colony trained soldiers. My plan was off-track. Nichol had to reclaim me from detention, and likely they had my image in their files. All it took was one person who remembered Milliardo Peacecraft to see my face. I needed a strategy. I didn't need to be sleeping.

"Are you listening to me?" Nichol's voice snapped through my own flurry of ideas.

"Yes," I squinted at him. He huffed and fussed, but I knew him well enough to know his show was cover a sincere worry.

"Relena's been kidnapped."

***

"Oh."

"Oh?" Nichol repeated.

Someone had kidnapped Relena? I wondered what she'd been doing and what sort of security detail the Preventers had that could fail her so badly.

"She is your sister, right?" Nichol prodded. Apparently my reaction wasn't what he expected.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Okay." Nichol heavily sat on the bed as if from great relief. "It's all over the news. I thought you might be concerned. Want to do something about it."

He thought I might be concerned. What an curious notion. Of course, something had to be done about Relena. But her abduction should generate a ransom or a war. Those were things I knew how to deal with regardless of my concern. _Nichol's_ concern was problematic.

"So what's your plan?" I asked him.

"What?" Nichol said cautiously, but his cheerful expression betrayed his delight. I'd uncovered another problem in that reaction. "Well, the circus we saw? One of the Gundam Pilots, Trowa Barton..."

"I know him." I recalled snow and ice and an Antarctic chill.

"Yeah, well he's part of that circus. The other day... Wufei Chang." Nichol said smartly. "Both on this colony. I bet it has to do with your... whatever you're doing here." He waved his hand vaguely.

He could put things together.

Nichol continued. His words hesitating as if gauging my reaction to each. "I have an idea."

He didn't need me. But maybe... perhaps he'd put together what I needed.

***

"I've come to ask for a code name. I'd like the name Wind..."

***

"How did that go?" Nichol asked when I got back to the rooms we were sharing back on Earth. His question was his way of asking about Lady Une. I still didn't know anything that wasn't in the report, but his shifting glance implied enough. I wondered if he became so attached to all his commanding officers. Fortunately, I wasn't exactly that. I could let him loose of me.

He'd be better without me in that case.

"Well enough." I kept my response vague. His reaction should be enough to keep him away from the Preventers. If I knew how to pluck his anger. "Seems like Noin is on this mission as well."

"Noin?" Nichol raised his eyebrows. Somewhat about his eyes seemed more sad than anything else. I was doing something wrong.

So I tried again, "I always had her check my numbers for me."

"What the hell!" Then his face turned dark, rose-colored from irritation. "Don't... _you are_... You're making fun of me? How dare you."

"Take care. Keep the room as long as you need it." I gathered my bag which I'd packed before going to see Une about the mission to deal with Dekim Barton and Operation Meteor. Next to mine was Nichol's luggage. Equally packed.

"Your numbers were wrong," he insisted, but didn't move from where he stood. "I saw them. Your calculations were..." His eyes grew wide. "You weren't wrong. You were going to..."

"Kill them all," I said. "Every last one of them."

"Maria?" Nichol hissed. "The kids? Can't you tell the difference between civilians and soldiers?"

"Can you?"

He crossed the distance and my jaw twisted under the force of his hand. He stared at his fingers, now outstretched. Nichol's lips parted from the pain. It had been a good punch.

"You tricked me!" he accused.

"Why so surprised?" I tasted the bitter tang of blood in my mouth from his well-aimed punch. "You've been with me long enough to know that. You named me as much from the moment we got on the colony."

His eyes were wild. Quite probably he hadn't heard a word that I'd said since his original outburst. I hadn't wanted to leave him this tightly wound. But he'd find a place to calm himself. He'd find another school to teach better math than I knew.

Perhaps, when this was over and Relena was safe again I would find him.

Not Nichol. But his step-father. The one who made that scar and left a little boy who was still looking for someone to love him.

I had played with those numbers for days and months. Never quite sure I had them right. But what had it _mattered_, the numbers always said the same thing. We were all going to die. I'd meant to kill him too.

Except, I could never bring myself to do it. And that thought, one I buried deep, meant I needed to leave him.

So I left.

____spacer____

**Author's Note:**

> art also by author


End file.
